Little White Truck
Because the white truck traveling the span of the Williamsburg Bridge
could be the white fastener traveling the top of a zip-lock bag,
the East River and tugs might be contained without spilling
in today's October light, along with this new spray of trees and
picnic tables which appeared when the industrial tide of Williamsburg
went out. If these could be contained, then likewise the two cyclists,
now dismounted and steadying their bikes as they kiss, and surely
it could hold the music they heard last night eddying again
around their thoughts, and the memory of their first idea of the
future, loosed when he held her in a doorway lit by cobwebs of spring rain.
2.17.2009
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6 comments:
It's supposed to be a prose poem--I can't figure out how to format it.
That's kinda of nice. Who's is it? I like how it begins with a pretty big imaginative leap of faith (the truck like the fastener on a baggy...that's an image that just may not work) and still manages to make it a necessary part of the metaphor. Once we get to the cyclists, it might turn a little sentimental, though. I'm not sure if it's being seen with the same freshness as the opening lines (cobwebs of rain doesn't hit me the same way as the truck image). The writing is lovely throughout.
Jessica Greenbaum from the new issue of Salamander. The cobwebs struck me as well, but I think because I've heard "cobwebs of light" before--and after reading it a number of times, I thought the ending, and the vortexual tension of it really worked.
And yes, the writing is gorgeous.
The imagery is quite nice, and the prose poem format is very effective. The line breaks create an excellent tension that really pushes the piece forward.
For me, the fact that I don't know anything about the "Williamsburg Bridge", etc., allowed me to completely form the image in my mind. Had it used something like the New York City skyline or the Golden Gate bridge, my mental picture would have been adulterated.
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